Forbidden
by Panty-Hose-Galore
Summary: America and Russia have just recently formed a new and very important alliance, but when it comes down to saving the life of someone America believes that he is in love with, will he choose between his lover or his country? Violence, blood and angst.
1. A New Alliance

**AN: **

Right, so first off, I cannot begin without giving a short bibliography. My best friend and I were sitting in her room and being silly as we told each other some the fan fictions and ideas we wrote. Basically we were squealing and spazzing all over the place about Hetalia. We then decided that we've never actually come up with something /together/ before. So guess what we ended up doing? Yup, you guessed it. Deciding on a fan-fiction to write together. My friend came up with so many wonderful ideas and suggestions and I thank her so much for that! I did the writing and she did a heck of a lot of the plotting. Everyone thank my wonderful friend for that! –clapclapclap-! I'd also like to give a thank you to my roleplay buddy, Alex! Once we wrote down the plan sheet I came home and told Alex about it, and she decided to roleplay it out with me so I could get a better feel for the characters and their emotions before I actually wrote the fan-fiction. It helped tremendously! So thank you to Alex, and my friend(I dunno if she wants me to put her name on here) for making this how awesome it is! 333; Oh and thanks to my editor who is my sister.

**EN:**

She actually didn't edit it this time. ;A; "Too busy" apparently.

**Disclaimer:**

I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia

**Warning:**

Yaoi(Don't worry, only fluff)

Blood, violence, abuse and angst(lots of it)

Barack Obama is in the story. WE HAVE NOTHING AGAINST OBAMA AND THIS DID NOT REALLY HAPPEN. HE IS ONLY THERE TO ADD DRAMATIC EFFECT AND IN REAL LIFE, WE'RE QUITE SURE HE WOULD NOT ACT THIS WAY!!!

Character Death. w;;

**Pairing:**

LithuaniaxAmerica

Enough rambling….Shall we proceed?

It was merely a typical evening in Moscow, impenetrable winter snow blanketing every mountain and hill, the streets paved over in a gaunt layer of ice while not a single blade of grass was perceivable within miles.

On such a conventional evening, only one profoundly misfortunate American was to be seen hammering his cadaverous, frigid fists fervently on a Russian's front door, the sub-zero wind whipping stridently against his dusty brown bomber jacket which he held snugly to his body, savoring the slight warmth that radiated from it as his teeth clattered violently in his mouth.

The pitiable man resented this form of weather. He was accustomed to bikinis and beaches, not Eskimos or whatever the hell inhabited Russia!

The only explanation as to why he was here was the fact that he and Russia's bosses had been cooperating better recently and after much discussion, had agreed on forming an alliance.

America couldn't straightforwardly say that he was exactly ecstatic about this resolution due to his grudge against the Cold War, but hey, if it was going to help his country prevail and maintain its status as the world's greatest power, then it was at least worth a try, right?

Well….that wasn't the solitary reason why America had agreed to come there that evening…to tell you the truth, his surreptitious crush, (although America thought of the word "crush" as an underestimation and _girly_ word) Lithuania, was to be there.

Ever since Lithuania had begun to work for America, not too exceedingly elongated before the Great Depression, America had become conscious about what he cherished about the other male.

He couldn't cease from noticing his awe-inspiring olive eyes that made you desire to gaze into them for hours on end, examining every meticulous speck that imitated the succulent fields of grass back home, not a single blemish or disturbance interfering with that infinite sea of green.

Alfred adored the way he would cock his head cutely to the side, his undulating, mid-length chestnut locks bouncing along with the movement as a guiltless smile grazed his lips, a soft giggle parting his mouth. It was innocence so pure that it could only belong to the one and only Toris Lorinaitis.

"Toris," Alfred mumbled out loud, his eyes glazed over in contemplation as he recited his name. It felt fastidious on his tongue, like it belonged.

Unfortunately though, during the Great Depression, America was left with no other remorse than to return Lithuania to Russia, for Alfred had become so poor that he'd have to make it by with merely mince meat on contrast to the sporadic top-quality hamburger.

Finally, just as the American was just about to affirm that his bum was going to acquire frostbite, the colossal mahogany door to Russia's palace swung open, revealing the oversized, bulky man, his attire consisting of a past-knee length trench coat and a thick wool scarf, flawlessly corresponding with the Russian stereotype.

"Ah, America-kun, love to see that you're enjoying your time in Moscow, da?" the Russian greeted with a diminutive chuckle, a jovial beam adjourning his round features.

Alfred confidentially scoffed but restrained his austere clarifications as he proceeded into the palace, his blue eyes widening beneath his spectacles as he marveled at the décor of Ivan's abode.

It was utterly stunning, and you'd have to be blind not to confess that much. The main entrance hall led into a considerable open area, both outer walls meeting two curved staircases, a crimson rug rolling down the steps. Pictures of assorted historically famous leaders lined the walls including…Stalin and Marx. America shuddered but continued gawking at the rest of the marvelous features.

Throughout this, America ceased to catch the tedious glare Ivan shot into the kitchen where Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania were preparing dinner, warning the three Baltic states that tonight was _his_ night and if any of them were to screw this up in any way shape or form, punishment would be indulged accordingly.

The Russian then draped a toned arm securely around Alfred's shoulders and steered him into the dining space where an exquisite display of candles were arranged along a crimson tablecloth, indistinguishable to the carpet seen previously.

Ivan motioned him to take a seat on the side adjacent to himself with a swift gesture of his hand, and the American promptly obliged, eager to get the "show on the road."

For the first half hour everything was going along so faultlessly; the two effortlessly discussed the existing troubles and solutions that the two nations had in mind. They were even able to manage to fit in some classic Soviet Russian jokes, although they weren't exactly the American's absolute favorite topic of choice, for he'd much rather chatter about sports or something awesome like that.

At some point in time, the Estonian by the name of Eduard strode into the dining room where the two more authoritative nations sat, the teenager wearing a stained apron around his waist as he stopped next to Ivan, remaining hushed as if the Russian had to give him _permission_ to merely _speak_.

Ivan craned his neck around to face the Estonian, his expression sour and distastefully annoyed as if saying, "What is it you want _now_?"

Eduard perceptibly pretended not to discern that compulsive stare, but instead fixed his attention on his aged and worn shoes whilst mumbling in Russian, "Dinner shall be ready soon…" His Russian obviously needed practicing because it sounded rickety and irresolute, somewhat incoherent on some of the words even.

Wait…why was _Estonia _speaking _Russian_ anyways? Had Ivan forbid them of speaking their own native tongue? That was both controlling and unwarranted, but America knew by rumors that Russia was in fact manipulative towards the nations living beneath his roof.

The Russian then unexpectedly clasped his hands together and grinned animatedly, thus snapping the American from his thoughts.

"Perfect, da!" he chortled picking up his silverware, the American catching on and doing the same only a few moments later.

Gripping his fork and knife intolerantly, he had to restrain himself from banging his fists immaturely on the table and _demanding_ the food.

He had no idea what had been cooked, but the aroma that wafted in from the kitchen smelled steamy and delectable, only making him crave it even more.

As the two licked their lips and waited for the meal in silence, an abrupt crash echoed throughout the palace, causing the Russian to scurry from the room and into the route that Alfred knew to be the kitchen.

Alfred raised an eyebrow and pivoted around in his seat to face the Estonian who's expression was lit up with a controlled panic, like he knew what was happening but by experience had learned long ago not to scamper to the scene of the commotion.

"What was—" The American's voice was cut off by a muffled shout coming from the kitchen, clearly belonging to the Russian who's thick accent gave away his identity.

"Trying to ruin my night, da?!" he heard him bellow, soon followed by a high-pitched yelp.

Wait…America knew that yelp. He'd heard one precisely like it back whenever Lithuania used to work for him…he'd been scrubbing down a shower when he had slipped and unintentionally stubbed his toe, releasing a yelp identical to the one he'd just heard.

"Liet!" Alfred shrieked, an old nickname slipping out by mistake as he dropped his silverware which clattered to the empty plate harshly and threw himself out of the dining room chair, sprinting as fast as he could into the kitchen, only to gasp vociferously at what he saw.

Lithuania was sprawled vulnerably on the stone floor next to a shattered platter of food, his hands thrown up in front of his face as he attempted to defend himself from the infuriated Russian who was pummeling the poor man, his fists brought up above his pallid skin as he prepared to throw another punch.

Not if the hero couldn't stop him.


	2. Letting You Down

**AN: Yay~! So here's chapter two! The last chapter was somewhat light on emotions, but this one changes that completely. Here is where the depth begins, and the actual story comes out. I don't think it will be too long, but I'm hoping that it will still be satisfying. I want to thank everyone for all the positive feedback and once more, I thank the friend who helped me write this and my roleplay buddy, Alex. Also, I'm hoping to thank my sister for editing this…if she edits it. Sometimes she gets too busy. /:**

**EN: I'm a bit distracted—talking to my Canada via MSN—but I shall try not to miss much~ :3 Oh, and I'm the editor! 8D If you hadn't guessed...x3 My penname is Spiffented on here—so yeah. ouo;**

**Warning: This chapter contains very much angst, mild language and yaoi implications(ONLY FLUFF!!!)**

**Let's get this show on the road shall we? Love, HoseyPose3;**

No. _No. NO!_

America was _not_ going to let the Russian get away with this.

As if his body had a mentality of its own, he found himself charging toward the Russian, his arms extended as he ceased to consider his proceedings and their future penalties before committing them.

"Get off of him!" he demanded, snagging the back of Russia's monochrome scarf and pitching him brutally to the side where he crashed into the antique, granite counter.

While the Russian was attempting to ricochet from the American's assault, Alfred caught an open opportunity and instantaneously grasped it, knowing that if he could somehow pull this off then Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania could all be liberated from the Russian madman who was only bantering with their lives like a toy, an act warped and malicious.

Outreaching both of his arms, he managed to clasp Raivis and Eduard's sleeves with his fingers, thrusting them in the course of the exit.

Being as intellectual as they were, the two naturally caught on and scrambled out the door, knowing that if they were ever going to be free, now was their best opportunity to make that occur.

Revolving back around, Alfred faced the Lithuanian once more, rapidly reaching down to snatch his wrist and compel him to his feet as promptly as attainable before Russia could get him.

Just to be vigilant, the American directed a quick glimpse over at the rebounding Russian, and to his dismay, he'd managed to crawl onto his feet and was now swiftly advancing toward the two, an amused sneer mounting his plump, but sharp features.

Letting out an appalled snarl, America began to tow Lithuania toward the gargantuan mahogany front door, doing his paramount to steer clear of the Russian's acceleration toward them.

Just as they were almost out, _almost free_, America unpredictably felt Lithuania's clammy clutch on his hand slither away, followed by a faint cry of astonishment.

Whirling around, America felt an intense scowl itching onto his lips as he soon discovered that Russia had one built, steel arm wrapped firmly around Lithuania's neck, keeping his head compactly locked to his broad chest as he smiled amiably at America, almost as if he was _challenging_ the man.

"You let go of Toris!" Alfred commanded, a combination of anxiety, fury and apprehension creeping into his tone as his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Nnn, Lithie and I shall have playtime alone, da~?" taunted the Russian, simpering in delight.

Without pending another furious intimidation from the American, Ivan shot out the arm that wasn't restricting Lithuania and exerted all the force he could to ram the American out the door and into the flurry of snow, slamming and locking it directly afterwards.

America let out a low, defeated growl and pulled himself out of the snow, looking completely disheveled, immediately hammering his fists desperately on the wood, hoping—_begging_—to get inside the now prison and help his Liet.

But minutes ticked by, and the door refused to budge even the slightest bit. Alfred F. Jones—The United States of America—The so-called "hero" had _failed…_

_No!_

He wouldn't tell himself that—he _couldn't _tell himself that—he _couldn't _allow himself to give up hope just because of _one loss…_

He began to beat ferociously on the door, so hard that they almost were leaving dents when--Oh God. That's when he heard them…_the screams. _

They were full of agony—sharp and piercing—and went straight to his heart. Cries of pain…suffering… It was just too heart-wrenching to comprehend for a man of no more than 19 years. He couldn't stop the own pain that filled his heart with each shriek from overflowing, his brain going into full-out lockdown and panic mode.

It was almost like watching one of those mortifying horror movies that he was always making except there was one _huge _difference—_This was real_. As much as he'd love to believe it, Alfred couldn't just snatch a remote and stop the gruesome scene before him whenever he became too frightened…he couldn't just punch the mute button and block out those feeble, powerless screams from his mind. Yes, this was_ completely different. _

_A whole different world from his cliché Hollywood endings._

He felt his efforts had been so futile…knowing that the being he had passionate feelings for was being hurt…and he could do nothing to aid him. The hero couldn't save the damsel in distress. The hero wasn't strong enough. The hero wasn't _capable _of defeating the villain in this story.

Releasing an anguished cry of his own, he threw all of his weight against the wood of the door, only to have his pains wasted in vain once more.

Giving in finally, as the screaming continued like a broken record in the back of his dull, throbbing skull, he sunk to his knees, tears of resentment, aggravation and regret lashing from his eyes as they dripped into the snow, leaving small, grey holes on the thick white layers of frozen precipitation.

All of a sudden, he felt a stiff hand on his shoulder, causing America's head to jerk up his cerulean eyes snapping wide open in alert. Had Liet gotten free?! Or had Russia come out to gloat cruelly, holding up the mangled, beaten corpse of the poor, weaker nation…?! What if he was _dea_—

_Oh. _

It was just Estonia, his undernourished, lanky figure bent down at a fairly uncomfortable angle as he outstretched a willowy hand to rest on the American's shoulder at an attempt to offer comfort. Always so generous, he was.

A few feet behind Eduard lingered the fifteen year old Latvian, his withered arms held tightly around his body, embracing himself for warmth. His shoulders were bent over like an old mans, as though the weight of the world had finally come to rest on his shoulders, bearing them down heavily with regret and tortured memories from the past.

They were both waiting, _expecting,_ the American—the _hero—_ to do something, to do _anything. _Even though their shoulders were burdened with their own pains, even though hope should have fled them long ago, their eyes had not yet lost their glimmer—hope wasn't lost. Not when it was in a manifested form sitting brokenly in front of them. Hope had never left. Hope may have given up—but it certainly hadn't lost its war.

He was _America_, the world's greatest power; he was the _hero_.

And what was he _doing…?_ Weeping and crying into his knees? How _pathetic! _Of course not! Heroes aren't supposed to be sad! Hero's aren't supposed to let one stray attack, one mistake in the battle plan, one loss in a endless war get them down—if he was a _hero—_then this was only a bump in the road—this was only an_ obstacle _on the way to rescuing the adored Lithuanian from the evil clutches of the _villain!_

…

_But_…His Liet…_His Liet..._He was still locked inside of that_ jail_ with an insane—_psychotic _even—Russian Federation who would unleash nothing but pain and torture on the frail man.

This wasn't just _fair_…none of it! Toris didn't deserve _any_ of this! So what if he'd accidentally broken a dish and spoiled dinner? America had done that plenty of times before! That was far too petty of a reason to get punished for!

A blaze of vehemence coursed through the American, choking him up and overriding his heart and mind—nearly causing him to fling out all his emotions then and there, but then the Estonian spoke up, this distraction effectively pushing back his thoughts temporarily, the haze still settled over his vision.

"Alfred, Toris is strong; he can handle this. There's no way you'll be able to get in now that we're locked outside. Ivan has this place completely barred," Estonia paused for a moment, his flaxen eyebrows furrowed slightly in thought. "And besides…we're just putting ourselves in more danger the longer we stand out here…the sooner we can leave, the better, although Ivan always has ways to regain his property…" That was just like Estonia. Always trying to make the best of a situation…always trying to do the logical thing.

America gnawed lightly on his lower lip, his azure eyes glassy as he mentally scanned the options. Leave Toris…Be safe…Go back for Toris…risk alliance…perhaps get Toris hurt even more…

Why the hell was making decisions so intricate anyways? He was the hero and his "damsel in distress" was being injured while he just sat there like a ninny! That was _nothing _like how a hero should behave! The fluorescent spandex flaunting characters in his comic books would shun him if they were here to see this! Stupid comics! America wished and prayed that they could've come out with a comic like what he was going through…and it would tell him all the answers and what to do. He wouldn't have to be faced with the most important decision of his life…he'd know what to do just as soon as it happened…

…But Estonia provided a fine point…He couldn't just sit there. That'd be outright inane!

Sighing deeply in defeat, he forced his body out of the snow and into a suitable standing position, ordering himself to disregard the shrieks now subsided to hushed whimpers from inside, maddening the American to nearly spin back around and charge into the mansion…but he restrained himself…for the sake of Estonia and Latvia.

Murmuring an almost incoherent "come on," he weaved around in the direction of his pimped-out American sports car which was, to no revelation, top of class, an eye-popping metallic burgundy color veneering its exterior.

Only a jiffy or two after he'd begun to head down the path to his vehicle, his heard Raivis and Eduard's shoes crunch into the loose snow with each step, obviously trailing him to his car.

America wordlessly threw his hand into his jean's pouch as he dug around for his key, retrieving the jingling gizmo a minute later.

Once he was able to unbolt the car, he negligently squeezed in, Raivis and Eduard crawling into the backseat soon after.

The usually consoling odor of stale fast food and beer gave no constructive effect on him that night, but instead did just the contrary, sending a wave of pessimistic melancholy through him…so many memories were in this car…So many of them had to do with Toris…All the many carefree car rides with Lithuania seemed so far away now…Now….Now trouble was keeping them from him…separating him from the times he cherished the most…

He soon came back to reality and plunged the key into the ignition, the automobile coming to life with a low rumble, the radio starting on its own.

"…_Making use of all this time, keeping everything inside, close my eyes and listen to you cry…_" sang the radio. Of course, a romantic song out of every other song out there had to be played. Wow, this was just _exactly_ what America needed at that moment. "_I'm lifting you up. I'm letting you down. I'm dancing 'til dawn. I'm fooling around. I'm not giving up. I'm making your love. This city made us crazy and we must get out…_"

Wrenching his hand out, he rapidly muted the radio, nearly breaking the control button as he did so.

He sat there for a few unbearable minutes frozen in his place, his hands vacillating violently as they were caked to some extent with sweat, his heart throbbing so stridently that he could have avowed that Raivis and Eduard could heed it screaming in his chest…inside his head was spinning uncontrollably…jumbled thoughts and images flashing through his mind as if he were on a rollercoaster. No. Not a roller coaster…Roller coasters were supposed to be pleasing…and this was the farthest thing from it.

Reminding him that he must get the two Baltic States out of Russia before Ivan could embezzle them; he blinked hard several times and took three profound breaths before focusing his notice on driving.

One of the optimistic things about being a nation was that you could fluently relocate from one country to another. It was sort of as if the world completely shrinks itself, and the distance shortens significantly…although they view the world's size like any other human can, so in away it doesn't really "shrink."

No-one really understands how or why it's like this, but contrasting to customary humans, they don't undergo the must to contemplate every single unreciprocated inquiry they may have like those meddlesome human scientists.

If they did, then they'd demand to know why they were born as countries, why they live like they're immortal unless caused by physical destruction of the body or the subsiding of their nation, where they actually go when their body decays, and why their strange ways of transportation are like they are.

Due to the anomalous fact that they needn't cross an ocean to get to America, the traverse surely wouldn't take too long.

Finally, he coiled his dank fingers around his steering wheel and strained his foot down on the pedal, the sports car maneuvering forward at last. This was the first step to getting Raivis and Eduard free…

Throughout the ride, Estonia had to remind him numerous times to center his attention on the highway due to the fact that Alfred's mind kept wondering off to thoughts about Lithuania. Was he hurt; perhaps afraid? Maybe he even felt deceitfulness towards America for parting from him…

Alfred then began to ponder on "what ifs."

What if during the Great Depression he'd never returned him back to Russia? What if he could have considered the consequences of mass production before doing it? Lithuania had come to him after WWI because he'd been too meager to even consume boiled rice in his motherland and had traveled to America seeking a job. It was the Great Depression which _America_ created that obliged him to abscond…

What if America had never contracted that dense treaty with Russia? And overall, what if America never even met Lithuania?

Everything could've been prevented if he knew the future spread out before him…

But there was no spiraling back around now. What was done was done, after all. He'd lost the remote to his life and couldn't hit the rewind button…

A few minutes later, the three distraught nations arrived at the American's multi-storied manor and inattentively edged out of the vehicle, hardly anything registering in their minds…they just ceased to believe that they were really free…and that _this_ was what freedom felt like…They'd always imagined freedom as merry and tranquil…not morose and lonesome…But then again…this was reality.

Alfred approached his proverbial front door and flicked away a stray dirty blonde hair that had fallen in front of his eyes as he raided his pocket in search of his keys once more.

After finding what he was looking for, he tentatively dragged it from his jean compartment, using it to disengage his door.

The foyer gaped open, and Alfred took a staggering step aside, mutely beckoning Eduard and Raivis inside with a sole gesticulation of his hand.

"Make yourselves at home…" America mumbled, fervent that the sentence came out appropriately and didn't affront them. After all, what was home to them? They had lived beneath a vindictive Russian's canon for years…that _definitely_ didn't delineate a home. A home was waking up every morning and having a huge breakfast…A home was sitting curled up by a fireplace every night, reading a book…A home was when Lithuania was there…This wasn't a home.

Deciding to make up the poor prior statement, he came up with something on the spot.

"Um, I have pretty much everything here, so…"

At least that part was candid. Anything and everything could be found inside of his house. Being economically on the top of the charts world-wide had its advantages here and there.

Estonia, catching the awkward atmosphere, forced a weedy but heartening smile down at Latvia and tenderly rested a hand on his shoulder while cooing, "Come on, Raivis…" before guiding him out of the room.

Once he heard a door upstairs click shut, he knew they were out of hearing distance. Almost immediately, he sprinted off in the course of one of his many hallways, being sure to select one in the opposite direction of where Eduard and Raivis had gone.

Scanning his eyes athwart the dimly-lit hallway as he mentally noted that they baby-blue wallpaper could really use some modernization; they finally rested on what he was looking for. It was one of those archaic telephones in which hung modishly from the wall, it too in need of an upgrade.

As promptly as he saw it, he lurched forward, feet pounding raucously against the timber floor. Snatching the device, his fingers mechanically punched in the digits to Russia's home phone as his nails intolerantly strummed against the side.

Minutes upon minutes seemed to tick by, and for what felt like the umpteenth time, Russia ceased to answer his phone. That's when the answer hit him like when you zone out during a basketball game, objectionably snapping back into authenticity only to find that pigskin had collided with your face.

America had been so blinded by wrath and adrenaline that he hadn't even stopped to muse as to why Ivan wasn't picking up, but in its place had thrown him into a constant cycle of dialing and failing for minutes on end. Of course! Russia only had the awareness of his house phone number, therefore eloquent that it was America behind the calls, the very purpose evident. Since Ivan couldn't distinguish his cell phone number, this time he'd remain oblivious to the Russian.

Without thinking, America let the telephone slew from his hand which pummeled obliquely into the wall where it dangled droopily at the end of the cord; he slipped his hand into his pocket to retrieve his cell, soon gripping the object next to his right ear.

Reciting the equivalent number he'd been using for the past 15 minutes, he rapidly dialed it in and ardently began to nibble on his bottom lip out of an old habit as the phone rang for the first time…second time…third time…"You've reached Ivan Braginski~!" chimed Russia's sickly jovial voice, appearing above distrust to the listener but with demons veiled within. "You've called to become one with Russia, da?"

Physically tapering his grasp on the cell-phone, Alfred's eyes narrowed into little slits as he spat, "Where the hell is Lithuania?"

A light chortle rang through the phone, followed by the Russian's perceptibly diverted remark. "Ah, America, it is such a pleasant surprise to hear from you! You enjoyed dinner then, da?" he giggled, toying with the American's mind.

With an agitated snarl, Alfred, malice striking his tone, stipulated, "Just answer the damn question, Ivan."

"Nn~, naughty language, Alfred." the Russian taunted with the same amused laugh. "But I'm afraid that I can't tell you that. So terribly sorry. You see, I know that you want to get Lithuania back from me, but I personally think not as to seeing that you've already managed to take two of my favorite toys from me." Russia 'tsked' a time or two before continuing. The next sentence escaped as a menacing and vaporous whisper, his words echoing throughout the American's skull. "If you take Toris from me then I will be left with no choice but to rupture the alliance between us…"

America felt his muscles tense laboriously together, his eyes widening as one visibly twitched, his thumb edging towards the "end call" button. This wasn't just at all…he knew that this alliance was exceptionally essential…_Lithuania or a power alliance_? His duties as a nation were far more important…right?

**AN: Alright you guys! This turned out to be longer than I thought. Before this story, I never really realized **_**why**_** authors always requested reviews on their stories…now I do. I feel…superfluous when no-one reviews…;A; But when I do get reviews, it's extremely motivating. As you can see, this took like two or three weeks to come in. If I get lots of reviews on this chapter then I'll be stimulated to make chapters come in sooner and better. So…please review! I need your honest opinions! Constructive criticism, please! Flamers…that's really quite uncouth, but if the story is really that repulsive then go ahead…/;**


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